


Ain’t Shy, Shy, Shy

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Episode Tag, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mirror Sex, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: For just a beat, he can hardly breathe around the weight of how much he missed Dean, how grateful he is that he’s come back to him.  If he answers, it’s going to be with something sentimental enough to embarrass them both.





	Ain’t Shy, Shy, Shy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



“You think you’re pretty cute in my shirt, huh?” Dean checks his shoulder a little as they crash into the dressing room reserved for Roman as Universal Champ.

“Maybe,” he says, feeling a grin on his face and a pulse in his throat, as pumped as if he’d been the one to plant Dolph on the canvas before the commercial break. “You telling me I’m wrong?”

The Big Dog and his Title and all his ring gear have cleared out already. They have the place to themselves, probably until after Roman and Finn close out the main event. Dean takes in the solitude and turns back to him with a wolfish grin of his own. Seth gets a little jolt from both the heat in Dean’s expression and the realization that it’s the first of his smiles his partner has returned on the night.

“Aw, baby,” Dean says, “you really think I’d pick now to start lying to you?”

It’s true; Dean has always been scrupulously honest, even when it hurt them both.

For just a beat, he can hardly breathe around the weight of how much he missed Dean, how grateful he is that he’s come back to him. If he answers, it’s going to be with something sentimental enough to embarrass them both.

Dean spares them by snagging a handful of the shirt and dragging him forward into a kiss. He stumbles over the last half a step and steadies himself with a grip on Dean’s bare arms, hands curling around crazy-defined biceps. He feels Dean smirk against his mouth, teasing him without a word about checking out the merchandise, and tries to pour everything he didn’t just blurt out into the way he kisses him back: _your body is unreal_ and _I love you so much_ and _you’re such an asshole_.

Dean walks him backward until his back rests against the mirrored wall, gives his bottom lip a love-bite, and then draws away just far enough to tug his sliced-up t-shirt over his head and discard it on the floor. When Seth moves to follow suit, he shakes his head and reaches out to stay his hand.

“Nah. Leave it on.” He hooks a couple of fingers into the waist of Seth’s pants and pulls their hips flush. “These can go, though.”

He leans in for another kiss and lets his hands travel up across Dean’s shoulders and down his sides and over the sharp cut of muscle at each hip, to land at the buckle of his belt. It takes a couple of impatient, ungainly minutes to wrestle themselves and each other out of boots and socks and compression gear and knee-pads. He buries a laugh in the crook of Dean’s neck. It earns him a little yank on his hair, the sudden pressure of Dean's grip drawing a gasp out of him and angling his face back up to meet Dean’s mouth with his own.

He reaches between them and wraps one hand around them both. This time it’s Dean’s turn to breathe out a sharp sound against his skin. He tilts his head to rest his forehead against Seth’s and reaches down to still his hand, linking their fingers.

“Not so fast,” he rasps. “Got an idea.”

“Yeah?” He’s missed Dean’s ideas; even the bad ones. Maybe especially those. He brings his free hand up to rest against the side of Dean’s neck, rubs his thumb over the neatly-trimmed border between thick scruff and tender skin along the underside of his jaw.

“Yup. Had a long, long time with nothing to do but make plans.” Dean cranes his head and replaces the prickle of his beard against Seth’s palm with another kiss, the softest yet. When he speaks again, it’s muffled against Seth’s skin. “Turn around.”

When he does, he’s facing his own reflection: cheeks flushed, eyes dark and dilated, the flyaway strands that’ve come loose from his lazy bun curling in the sweat that’s started to break out at his hairline. His mostly-hard cock curves up ridiculously from under the hem of the t-shirt. Dean’s logo stretches taut over his chest; it feels like the pounding of his heart should be visible behind the lettering.

“Look at you,” Dean says, and flashes a wicked smile into the mirror before he leans in over his shoulder to nip at Seth’s earlobe. “Sit tight.”

Dean crosses the room to rummage around in his bag, and Seth takes the opportunity to watch him in the mirror, to just be still and take him in in a way they haven't had enough time for since he got back. He's different, no question: solid in some of the places where he used to be lean; hair no good for hiding his eyes anymore and definitely not long enough for anyone to get a handful of; the fresh scar on his elbow the gnarliest of his varied collection, a puckered reminder of the time the injury cost, of how much more they might have lost to it.

He’s still Dean, though, broad shoulders and easy grace; familiar as home and twice as precious after all the work Seth’s done - will keep doing - to earn back a place at his side. He pulls a small bottle from the recesses of his backpack and turns back to the mirror; his eyes meet Seth’s in the glass, flashing bright and blue and as full of mischief as the dimple that takes shape in his cheek when the corner of his mouth ticks up into a feral smirk, and he closes the space between them, trusty container of lube in hand.

Seth can see in the glass how hard Dean is, and in another few heartbeats, he can feel it, when he presses himself along his back and grinds into him, the tip of his cock smearing wet against Seth’s thigh. He braces his hands against the mirror, its surface cool under his sweaty palms, and lets Dean rut against him in a restless rhythm.  In the reflection, Dean’s eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed, and his lower lip trapped between his teeth. Seth wants to turn around and hold him, kiss him, hit his knees and worship him. Before he can do more than think about it, Dean tilts his head and fastens his teeth into the muscle of his shoulder.

He sucks in a breath and presses back into the solid heat of Dean’s body, and hears the cap of the bottle snap open. Dean’s hands are on him then, skimming under the t-shirt to stroke over his abs, cupping his balls, and spreading a layer of lube over his skin, not opening him up but slicking up the insides of his thighs.

“This your big idea?” he asks, going suddenly breathless when Dean gives his cock a steady stroke.

“You know it, baby.” Dean squares up behind him and shifts his hands to settle at his hips. His fingertips are rough, but his grip is light to start with. He presses his legs tighter together as Dean slots himself between them with a sigh and starts to rock into him.

He expects Dean to have some terrible patter, maybe something about not needing an Ivy League pedigree to appreciate a good Princeton Rub - a frankly absurd monologue made undeniably sexy by the rasp of his voice in Seth’s ear - but Dean’s quiet instead. The only thing spilling from his mouth are ragged, panting breaths smothered against Seth’s shoulder, hot and muggy through the t-shirt.

With every stroke, the tip of Dean’s cock emerges from between his thighs, flushed and shining and wet in the reflection. It drags against the underside of Seth’s own cock on each thrust. His breath fogs against the mirror as he leans closer to its surface for support. His thighs are starting to tremble. Dean’s grip has tightened up on his hips, digging in hard to keep him close; he hopes he’ll have bruises.

The t-shirt is clinging to his back, damp with sweat - his own and Dean’s both - and Dean’s forehead rests on his shoulder, his breath loud in the silence between them. He lifts his head and his eyes find Seth’s in the glass at the same time his calloused hand shifts from his hip to resume stroking his cock.

“Dean.” His voice is brittle and warped, even to his own ear, like he can’t decide whether he wants to cry or beg or turn it into a prayer. “Oh, god, Dean.”

Dean is still holding his gaze in the mirror, eyes hot and raw and intent, and Seth tries to keep up the connection. Refuses to look away, until his orgasm sweeps over him, and he stripes Dean’s logo with come and his eyes reflexively close and try to roll back into his head.

He feels loose and lazy and spent and keeps himself braced against the mirror, steaming the glass with the heat rolling off him. He’s trained for endurance, so his legs are still holding him up, but he’s probably not as much help to Dean as he might have been earlier. Luckily, he’s close enough that it turns out Seth doesn’t need to stand straight or clench the muscle of his thighs to let Dean get off between them, his load spattering onto the mirror and Seth’s skin alike.

Dean pulls away, and his softening cock slips from between Seth’s slick thighs before he leans back in to drape himself against his back and survey their reflection.

“Made you kind of a mess, huh?” His lips brush over the skin above the collar of the ruined t-shirt, and Seth can’t help but shiver.

He reaches one hand behind him to cradle Dean’s head and keep him close. “Always.”


End file.
